


strawberry fizz (on the tip of my tongue)

by ivyclimbing



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Celebrity, Alternate Universe - Future, Getting Together, Light Angst, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-18
Updated: 2015-05-18
Packaged: 2018-03-31 04:02:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3963652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivyclimbing/pseuds/ivyclimbing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Future AU; Kise is an actor, Aomine plays basketball, and they see each other once again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	strawberry fizz (on the tip of my tongue)

**Author's Note:**

> Please do not post this work elsewhere. I do not own the characters herein and make no profit from this work. Not beta'd. I haven't given up on this yet.
> 
> Edited Nov 8, 2017.

*

“Kise! Kise! Look this way!”

The August air is humid, sticky and thick as quicksand. He stands, with a hand in his pocket and a smile on his face, as incandescent lightbulbs flash through the darkening sky, planets of brightness that burst and burn on his retinas. He holds himself still, a swarm of camera shutters and voices buzzing around him like insects around a corpse. He fixes the photographers with one last grin before he’s herded towards the waiting row of reporters.

“Great to see you, Kise! How does it feel to attend your first premiere in London?” 

“Very exciting,” Kise answers. He waves to the crowd across the street, and his laughter comes more easily when he hears audible squeals surge above the din. “The fans have incredible enthusiasm and energy.”

The reporter smiles, her microphone aimed towards him. Kise feels the camera focus on his face, and he makes sure to keep his expression friendly as she leans closer. “This film is your first performance in a leading role. How does it feel, after six years in the movie industry?”

Eight years, thinks Kise, but instead tilts his head towards the actors coming down the Red Carpet. “My cast mates are much more experienced performers than I am,” he says. “I admire them so much. I'm grateful to be allowed to work alongside these amazing people.”

“So many people love The Weeping Fern, and love it they should! You were spectacular in the last film, and from the looks of it, The Bleeding Anemone is geared towards another success!”

“Sam is a director with a lot of vision and drive. Everybody worked hard on this project, and there’s a great storyline, so I hope fans will enjoy this film,” Kise looks to the camera.

Another actor emerges from a black limousine. The crowd roars, but the reporter and the lens keep him in focus. “Any special tidbits you can reveal before the showing? Fans have been waiting since the first movie two years ago!”

“Hahaha, well… My character leaves the gang at the end of the last film. Now he’s back as an antagonist to the group he used to support. The gang doesn’t know him as well as they thought they do — and there are some special surprises — so he’s very difficult to deal with.” 

“Sounds fantastic! I’m sure audiences will be captivated. What are your plans after this film? There has been talk of a collaboration with director Christopher Nolan, after the Cannes screening this past May,” the reporter asks, her sharp nails curved around the microphone.

“I haven’t heard about that,” Kise chuckles. “We shot this film last year. Sam really wants to develop a solid storyline, so the last of this film trilogy won’t be out for a while.”

“We look forward to all your future work. It was so lovely talking to you. Have a great evening and best successes!”

Kise nods, smiles, and moves on. 

All around him, the lights were blinding. 

*

It’s a few minutes before midnight when he gets back to the hotel. Save for the half dozen hired security and a number of discreetly placed hotel staff, the lobby is empty, and the sudden quietness is almost a punch to the face. 

The marble floors and the cherrywood paneling aren’t a relief to see tonight. His skin is still itching with the touch of a hundred strangers. Despite the placid and cold hotel air, he feels uncomfortably warm — suffocating in his striped linen and silk Burberry suit. 

He smiles and nods to the night staff, resisting the urge to pull at his collar. Beside him, his agent shoots off another e-mail on her mobile. He glances sideways at Maggie as they wait for the elevator.

“How do you think that went?”

“Not bad,” Maggie says immediately. She’s been doing business in the industry for a decade, now, and Kise had been comforted by her steady presence at the premiere. She looks up and smirks. “London loves you. I said you had nothing to worry about.” 

“And of course you’re right, naturally,” Kise responds, lips twitching with a semblance of a smile.

Maggie goes back to her e-mails as they step into the elevator. He lets out a sigh when the doors slide closed, and looks up to the ceiling. His mirrored reflection stares back at him, expressionless, and like this it’s as if he were a different person. 

He shakes off his suit jacket as soon as the door to his suite clicks shut, dropping it at the foot of his bed. He fiddles with the thermostat, triggering a cool breeze from the ceiling, and toes off his shoes and socks before disappearing into the bathroom. 

Maggie takes a seat on the couch. Time passes in silence, interrupted only by the sound of water and the clicking of lacquered nails on the screen of a phone. She knows better than to interrupt this welcome reprieve. 

Maggie stands as she sends off her last reply. She raids the mini fridge before she enters the bathroom. It’s dark; he hadn’t turned on many lights. He’s soaking in the tub, leaning against the half wall of glass above the bath, looking out into the city, scrubbed pink and hair damp. 

She pauses for a moment at the door, taking in the sight of her friend. He’s beautiful, she thinks with a sinking heart. Although lately he’s been looking more and more withdrawn… more and more still, when he’d been a bouncing ball of energy in the earlier days of his adult career. 

She pours a couple fingers of brandy for both of them, perching on the ledge of the bath with her back facing Kise. He accepts the glass wordlessly. 

He sips his drink slowly, feeling warmth creep back into his veins. His fingers are cold and beginning to prune. The water had already cooled to beyond lukewarm but finally, the pounding at his temples has settled down. He reaches for the bottle. 

“I don’t think so,” Maggie says, moving the brandy out of his reach. “We determined the first year of our acquaintance that you are a complete lightweight.” 

“I was seventeen—”

She cuts off his protest with a stare. “I’m not dragging you out of the tub later, honey, if you pass out. And we both know you don’t like to soak in cold water.” 

Kise whines. “So mean! I’ll have you know that I can hold my weight in Sapporo.” 

“You can?” Her brows rise. “Don’t compare beer to liquor, my young grasshopper. You’ll thank me when you wake up tomorrow.” 

“Maggie!” Kise groans, drawing out her name. He huffs and finishes his drink with a toss of his head. She hides a smile behind her brandy, pursing her lips. This was more like the Kise she had first met, the one with a wealth of energy and cheer. 

He lets out a long breath, and the corners of his mouth lift slowly as he admits she’s right. “Hangovers suck.” 

Maggie sniffs, tossing back her chestnut hair. “Of course, I have to stop you from making stupid life decisions.” 

“Oh ho,” he grins. “That’s funny. I recall it was you who introduced me to the pleasures of bar hopping and hangover food.” 

“It was you who wanted to come to LA with me right after high school.” She smirks. They had met in Tokyo while Kise was still in high school, while Maggie was an intern travelling with her father’s studio. “I was just trying to show you true American culture. Besides,” she inspects her nails, “you were able to pick up English flawlessly, thanks to that.” 

“Oh yes, fast food and clubbing represent the best of American culture.” Kise raises a well groomed brow. 

“Oh stop,” Maggie says, sipping her brandy primly. “I took you to other places too.” 

“That’s right,” Kise teases lightly, “I remember your blue Camaro. The back seat of that car was so gross, Maggie-chan, I almost didn’t want to get in with you.” 

She scowls back just as playfully at their reflection in the glass. “So? We lived. Made your poses more lively.” 

Kise breaths deeply. “Yeah,” he says, and he’s stilling again. Withdrawing. “It did.” 

Maggie falls silent. Kise closes his eyes. 

She feels a shiver run through her. She’s had quite a few clients over the years, seen quite a few celebrities grow into the mask they put on for the public. It’s a persona meant to protect a talent’s personal life, but the job takes, and Kise gives too much. Sometimes the mask is all that remains.

The public doesn’t know Kise, the cheerful blond who likes to soak in the bath and the friend who is bad at holding alcohol. These days, Maggie can’t tell if it’s Kise, the actor, or Kise, her friend. She doesn’t want to lose one of her closest friends. She’s afraid. 

“I can’t believe it’s been eight years already,” she whispers.

“It’s hard for me to believe, too,” he inhales, as if breaking from a reverie. He sinks lower into the water, resting his head against the windowpane. His lashes cast threads of shadows upon his face, and his empty glass slips from his fingers to sink into the bathwater.

Her eyes soften. “Are you doing alright?” 

Kise looks out into the city. “I’m… just tired. It’s silly. I’m just not feeling like myself.” 

“Ryouta,” she says, half rising. “You work harder than anyone else I know. It’s been years of runways, shoots, and films. It’s not an easy industry, and some of these people have all the right backgrounds, connections, and looks. You’ve worked so hard to get here, Mr. Leading Role, and we’re all so proud of you.” She finds his gaze in the reflection. This is an overdue conversation she needs to have with her friend. “But nothing changes the fact that you are exhausted. A year ago you would’ve been at the venue until dawn. I know I’m not around as much—” 

“Too busy with the fresh young talent—”

Maggie narrows her eyes, and Kise winces slightly. “Stop changing the subject. I’m sorry. I’ve been a bad friend. This isn’t what I promised your family, when we left Tokyo. I should’ve paid more attention to you, and not just Kise, the actor.” 

His eyes widen and water splashes out of the tub as he straightens quickly. “I know I’m lucky and not many people make it this far. I knew what I was getting into, when I came to Hollywood. I chose this career for myself, Maggie. No one is responsible except for me.” 

“I’m responsible too,” Maggie sighs. “I’m your friend, and I’ll always think of you as my little brother. So I want the best for you, and this,” she gestured in the air, “how tired you are. It didn’t happen over night. I’m sorry.” 

“You do everything you can.” 

They sit for a few moments in the half dark. A few sconces of diffused light shine dimly, and a sliver of yellow from the bedroom escapes from behind the half closed bathroom door. Far below, cars pass, though they cannot hear the sound. Kise looks down at his hands.

“Maggie,” he hesitates. “This film took a lot out of me.” 

“This lifestyle did, too, maybe.” She drinks from the bottle. “Maybe you should take a break. No modelling, no acting. Just rest. It’s been a long time since you could be yourself.” 

He bites his lip. “I shouldn’t.” 

“You deserve a break.” 

“What about that saying, striking while the iron is hot?” Kise asks, almost desperately. 

Maggie shrugs. “Don’t worry so much. You’ve been famous since before high school. You’re never out of work. No, Kise, you throw everything into each project, but you’ll just run yourself thin like this.” A corner of her mouth lifts. “When was the last time you got laid?” 

“Maggie!” Kise clunks his head against the window. 

“What!” She teases. “It’s normal. And you didn’t answer the question.” 

His brows furrow. “Well, I’m not exactly normal,” he says, and it hurts her to hear him say that. He pauses, as if steeling himself. “And what if I’m not looking to get laid?” 

“Then you’ll have lots of time to figure out what you are looking for, on your vacation.” Maggie pinches him on the arm. “Besides, there’s nothing interesting coming up for at least half a year.” 

Kise sighs. “Okay.” 

Maggie nods, her eyes fond and a little misty. “We’ll just have to get through the rest of this promotional tour. No more than ten days. Then you get to rest.” 

Her nod is returned. “Alright,” she says briskly, standing and roughly smoothing out the fabric of her dress. “Now get out of the tub, Ryouta. I can’t enjoy the view here while you shrivel up into a prune.” 

He smiles, face softly lit by the night. “Just a while longer.” 

“Good night, Kise,” she says, patting his cheek. 

She leaves, taking the glasses and the brandy with her, and Kise closes his eyes. Outside, it begins to rain.

*

“How was the party?”

“Good,” Himuro says. “They asked about you.”

Kise looks around his hotel room without looking for anything in particular. He pauses the movie on TV, not that he was really watching anyway. He doesn’t think that everyone who matters had asked about him, but he squashes that thought down. “I’m in Paris. You knew I couldn’t make it.”

Himuro hums. “And you have Stockholm next week? You should come around sometime. The shop’s been getting busier these days.”

Kise gasps, over dramatically, and flops sideways onto the bed. He had posed for a few pictures with fans the last time he stopped by. “Tatsuya, you’re using me for business?” 

“Don’t be silly,” snorts Himuro, and Kise thinks maybe he should tell his friend about the vacation he’s going to take. Stockholm will be the last leg of the film’s promotional tour. “If anything, Atsushi doesn’t like the publicity. It just means less snacks for him and more work.” 

He’d said it just to tease his friend. It turns out that Murasakibara had a knack for creating delicious desserts (desserts that he likes to eat) and his shop does well without Kise’s interference. “He’s good at what he does,” Kise says. “Did he bake the cakes for the party?”

“Yeah, Taiga and Aomine-kun seemed to enjoy their cakes.” There was a smile in Himuro’s voice. 

“That’s great.” Kise looks up to the ceiling, stretching out his limbs like a starfish. To him, Kagami and Aomine were akin to the friends of a friend that he only hears about through Himuro. He wonders if they still like the same food from when they were in school together, and pauses, because he doesn’t want to take that trip down memory lane. “What’s new,” he asks, “mister foreign sports correspondent?”

It’s a familiar conversation between them, ever since they’d become friends in their second year of high school. They had first bonded over a fierce love for basketball and a yearning to stand alongside extraordinary players. They trained relentlessly, and both kept self-imposed expectations, a sunny disposition, and troubles close to their hearts. It wasn’t a probable friendship, given the distance between their respective schools, but it wasn’t a surprising one, either; they had many things in common, and they would talk via email and phone. 

Himuro found the time to listen to him talk about his activities. He never felt rushed, and his thoughts were never disregarded. Himuro listened carefully and responded truthfully. He became a valued feature in Kise’s life, and their friendship feels comfortable. 

When Kise had decided to move to the States with Maggie a year later, Himuro helped him learn English. Learning languages came naturally to Kise, the more he listened and watched.

“Good,” Himuro replies. “Things have been heating up in the NBA. I got tickets to the playoffs, if you’re interested.” 

“Are you coming to LA? Maybe,” Kise says, after a beat. “I still don’t know my schedule.” 

“I’ll be there in November. I’m staying in Japan for Atsushi’s birthday.” 

Kise grins. “And your birthday as well. Plans?” 

“The usual. I’ll double order supplies to the shop so he can have his snacks,” Himuro sighs through the receiver, and Kise could practically hear him rolling his eyes. “Get your mind out of the gutter.”

“I didn’t say anything,” he laughs. “Though I’m sure you’re aware of all the sanitation guidelines. You know, just in case stuff happens before you leave the shop.” Himuro snorts, and his laugh warms him. Kise makes up his mind without really thinking. “Hey, Tatsuya?” 

“Yes, Ryouta?” 

“I might be in town this year,” he says, playing with a strand of hair. His hair was getting a little long these days, the fringe falling to his brow, and the ends curling at the base of his nape. He should cut it, but he likes it and wants to have it for a little while longer. 

“You’re coming to Tokyo?” There was a beat before Himuro responds. It makes Kise nervous, and he almost takes back his words.

“Yeah,” he combs his fingers through his bangs, “well, Maggie is forcing me on a vacation.” 

“I’ll be glad to see you,” Himuro says, voice soft. “The others, too. They’ll be happy to see you, Ryouta. It’s been a while.” The words make him feel better about his declaration, and he spends the rest of the conversation trying to wrap his head around his forthcoming trip to Japan. They banter for a few more minutes before Himuro has to go, something about preparing for the lunchtime rush. 

He ends the call, and he suddenly feels anxious in the silence. His stomach churns as Jaws sits frozen on the TV screen. He hops off the bed and pulls out his phone to send a text to Maggie. I’m going out, he writes, I’ll be back tonight. 

Kise leaves with a hat and a pair of sunglasses perched on his nose. It’s the height of summer, and his complexion never took well to the sun. He stuffs his room card into the pocket of his jeans along with his phone and fifty euros, and slips out the hotel on the heels of a family of tourists. He’s been to this part of the city enough times to take the smaller streets around the block.

Nobody spares him a second glance. He’s an actor, and he observes and behaves like the residents milling the streets until he becomes a part of the crowd. For a moment, he feels grateful that he’s not quite a mainstream celebrity like Kim or Kylie. The media’s been hounding them through Europe all week. He wanders the entire afternoon, and Paris feels familiar to him in a way that Tokyo isn’t, anymore. 

The sky is rosy when he reaches the tower. He’s approached by a couple and he’s asked to take their photograph. The city is beginning to light up as Kise climbs up the steps to the first level. He climbs slowly, and he feels a bit out of breath when he’s completed his journey. 

From where he’s standing, Kise tries to make out the people below: families, lovers, young professionals, cyclists and street artists. Everybody is intent in their own worlds, and up in the tower, Kise can only hear seagulls cry and feel wind on his cheeks.

He feels tinier and more weightless than he did in high school, when he was injured and had to watch as his team fought and failed. High school was a long time ago, but he’s not sure if he’s ready to go back to the city of his past, if he’s ready to see his past teammates and rivals. Old friends that he only hears about through his friend. He left Japan to live in a new world, and he’s hardly been back outside of professional ventures. 

Kise stays until the moon peeks through the clouds. He’s shocked into movement when his phone chimes with a message from Maggie. When are we visiting the Japanese embassy, the message asks, and he’s not surprised that she’s guessed his travel destination. 

He grins wryly to himself, and buys a tacky snow globe from the souvenir shop on his way down.

*

(excerpt) HOT AUGUST ISSUE! INTERVIEW WITH KISE: HIS RISE TO FAME

Elle: [...] Before acting, you were a model known for representing ready-to-wear labels as well as fashion houses in Europe. What made you pursue an acting career?

Kise: I’ve always admired how actors are able to convey emotion and meaning through their bodies. They become different people by changing how they move, and how they speak. Many meaningful stories can be told — I like this aspect of entertainment, but I’m still a novice. 

Elle: [...] and with the film The Bleeding Anemone you’ve cemented your status as an actor! What does your family think about your fame?

Kise: (Laughs.) My sisters got me my first modelling job, actually! I modelled part-time in school, and I only moved to LA to do it full time after high school, so they’ve seen it all. My first film was six years ago, but this level of recognition is still new to me. I’m truly thankful for these chances. 

Elle: You’re a long time resident of Los Angeles, but before that, you lived in Japan. How do your experiences affect your performances?

Kise: I have powerful memories from both places. I think experiencing different cultures have really helped me grow and give my performances more depth. It helps that I travel so much! 

Elle: You moved to LA alone when you were seventeen. It must have been tough! Did you get homesick at all?

Kise: Change can be tough, but I wasn’t alone! One of my best friends is from LA, and that helped me out a lot. I talk with my family over the phone, or through Skype, which makes it easier. 

Elle: [...] Professionally, you are known, simply, as Kise. Your fans call themselves the Kise Kisses. Do you feel strange to be addressed by your last name? What do your friends and family call you?

Kise: No, I don’t mind! My fans are fabulous. (Laughs.) At first it was my agency. They thought Kise was snappier and easier to remember, kind of like Adele or Beyonce. (Laughs.) They call me what they’ve always called me. Some of my friends from school still use a nickname.

Elle: Are these the friends you played basketball with? Pictures of you, playing basketball, have surfaced online!

Kise: Wow, that’s a long time ago! I had wonderful teammates and played against some incredible people. I stopped playing during senior year due to injury, but some of my school friends went on to play in the professional leagues! One of them retired two years ago and opened a café. Great coffee and great pastries, so it’s a win for everyone!

Elle: Sounds like an amazing group of friends! [...]

*

Tokyo was sweltering. 

Kise texts Kasamatsu. I'm baaack!

The plane had landed two hours ago, and Kise had only just entered his hotel room, the third of the week. He unpacks his luggage with the efficiency of a frequent flyer, arranging his clothes in the wardrobe and storing his toiletries in the ensuite. He moves with sharp motions, not stopping even once. He doesn’t allow himself time to think, but it’s unavoidable, and it sinks in that’s he’s here in Tokyo when his suitcase is empty. 

His phone rings as he is examining the safe. There aren’t many people who know this number, and he picks up without looking on the second ring. “Hello?” 

“You little shit.” 

Kise grins, because it can only be one person on the other end. “Aw, senpai, I’ve missed you too!” 

“Your first visit in two years and you don’t let me know?” Kasamatsu sounds agitated, but that’s understandable.

Kise goes to sit on his bed, abandoning the safe. His family flies in to celebrate the holidays with him in America, and he’s had little incentive to come to Tokyo. “Ahh, sorry about that.” 

“A call in advance would’ve been nice. Instead I get this text — I’m back, what does that even mean?” 

“It means that I’m in Tokyo!” 

Kasamatsu snorts, and Kise figures that he’s forgiven. “Yeah, I thought as much. When’d you get back?” 

“About,” Kise looks at the clock on the night stand, “two hours ago?”

“Huh,” his old captain says. “Have you unpacked yet?” 

“Almost done.” He runs a hand along the surface of the bed, feeling the soft material bunch underneath his fingers. The room was fresh with the scent of flowers, and he turns to see a vase of yellow roses on a table near the window. He feels a rush of affection run through him.

“I’m at work right now, but I can come over to help later. There’s a heat wave coming, so I’ll pick up some stuff you’ll need at the conbini. Are you at your parent’s?” 

“Thanks, senpai, but I should be done soon. I don’t have much stuff.” He had brought one suitcase with him, not knowing how long he’ll be staying, and he figures he can buy whatever else he needs. “I’m staying at a hotel right now. My parents are in Germany.” 

“A hotel?” There is confusion in Kasamatsu’s voice. “Wait, Kise — are you back for work?” Kasamatsu doesn’t know, and he doesn’t understand. It’s jarring in a way that makes Kise feel awful, how he’s distanced himself from his closest friends. 

“No, senpai,” Kise says, swallowing. “I’m here on vacation. To visit you.”

His senpai sighs. “That’s more like it. And the hotel?” 

“Akashi-kun owns it,” he answers, glancing at the roses. They were a nice touch, and the room feels less empty with them here. “He arranged some services for my stay. Many celebrities stay at his hotels, so it should be fine.” 

“Listen to you, calling yourself a celebrity,” Kasamatsu snorts, and Kise blushes. “Hey, so when are we meeting up?” 

*

Kise groans. 

“My head,” he whines, “senpai, my head hurts so much.” 

Kasamatsu looks down at Kise, unimpressed. “You barely had anything to drink. Now get off my couch.”

Kise grabs onto the back of the couch and slowly raises himself up. “Hey! It’s hard to match the tolerance of a seasoned Japanese businessman, okay.” He accepts the proffered glass of water gratefully. “Thanks for bringing me back here last night.” 

His senpai snorts. “Of course,” he says, like it’s that simple. He messes at Kise’s hair as he drinks. 

“Stop messing up my hair,” Kise whines, and the ease of their interaction makes him smile. He downs his water and looks up at Kasamatsu. “Last night’s bar, is it the place you frequent after work?” 

“Yeah, though I’m surprised nobody recognized you.” 

“Maybe,” Kise suggests, “because the average age of the patrons was above fifty.” 

He caught the joke, but he punches Kise in arm anyway. “I’m not old!” The truth is that the bar only admitted regulars and customers introduced by existing patrons. It reminds Kise that his senpai from high school has really become an adult. 

“Alright, alright!” he winces and rubs his arm. “It’s probably because I haven’t been in many blockbusters.” 

Kasamatsu gives him a look. “Trust me,” he says. “You’ve got quite a following in Japan. Your fan club was in the news a while ago, for donating a hundred million yen to charity.”

“Yes,” he smiles, leaning back against the couch. “On my birthday. I’m very lucky.” 

“It’s not all luck,” his senpai says then, and the implications make them both blush. He wasn’t used to giving direct praise, and Kise wasn’t used to receiving it. “You’re a hard worker, Kise,” his senpai continues, and coughs. “Good job.”

“Thanks, senpai,” Kise says. He laughs, and he thinks that today will be a good day. 

“Well,” Kasamatsu recovers, motioning for him to follow. “It’s not much, but there’s breakfast.” 

He leads them into the kitchen, and Kise surveys the rice, miso, and grilled fish laid before him. “Thank you,” he repeats. The fish looked a little burnt around the edges, but it wasn’t often that someone shares their day with him like this. 

Kasamatsu grunts, forcing down the last of his blush, turns on the TV and begins to eat.

Kise turns to his food. He stops at the taste of miso. 

“Alright?” his old captain asks, over the rim of his bowl. 

“Yes,” Kise says, trying another sip. “It’s been a while since I’ve had miso first thing in the morning.” 

Kasamatsu looks interested. “What do you usually have for breakfast?” 

“A smoothie and an egg white omelet,” Kise confesses. He was kept primarily on a high protein, low carb diet, because he doesn’t have the metabolism of a young, growing athlete anymore. He’s not an athlete at all, anymore. 

His senpai raises his eyebrows. “I’ll never understand celebrities,” he chuckles. The twinkle in his eye assured Kise’s growing worry; they were still friends, despite their differences and their time apart.

“Well, eat up,” Kasamatsu says, and just then, the TV sings with an advert for basketball shoes, words and graphics flashing by at top speed. He whistles. “The Air Daiki and Air Taiga, huh. Seriously, you youngsters are everywhere.” 

Kise watches, his hands coming to rest on the sides of his bowl of miso. Basketball fills his vision. “Huh,” he says. 

“They made a deal to extend the production of the shoes since they were so popular,” the older man pauses to chew. “Basketball’s pretty popular in Japan these days. You haven’t heard?” 

“I don’t follow sports,” Kise starts, and eats a few bites of tofu to save himself from talking. His senpai had been angry, when Kise had stopped playing basketball, but he’s settled into a grudging acceptance, now. 

“They’re doing well,” says Kasamatsu, and leaves it at that. 

Later, when Kasamatsu is getting ready for work, he turns to Kise with a considering look. It’s a more serious look than he lets on, and his thoughtfulness is one of the many reasons he was a good captain, and why he’s a good friend. 

“If you want a break from things, I have a guest room.” 

“Thank you, senpai,” Kise says, and for the second time in as many days, he feels buoyed by affection. He doesn’t know why he’s waited so long to come back. 

They wait for the elevators together, and Kasamatsu gives him a slap on the back when the hired car pulls up outside the complex. The sun is blazing and the asphalt shimmers with heat. Kise adjusts his sunglasses, and opens the door. 

*

It’s still morning when he steps out onto the pavement, walking up to the gate with slow steps as the car putters away behind him. He’d left his senpai’s home earlier in the day with a sense of anticipation that made him seek out this destination in the suburbs rather than to return downtown. It’s a work day, so he figures he would be unbothered visiting his old neighbourhood.

The family house is in an older neighbourhood with a sizeable yard. When Kise was growing up, they were surrounded by many other children and growing families. There was always a fun time to be had and a friend to play with. 

He eyes the two storey house in front of him with the slate grey walls and the tidy garden. The hedges were trimmed, as were the rosebushes. But the curtains are drawn and the paint, upon a second glance, has started to crack and peel. There are no flowers on the bushes. 

He hesitates at the gates. He still has the keys to this house, but standing in front of it now, he feels his anticipation wear away into apprehension. He’s not excited to be here, he realizes, the way that his sixteen year old self felt excited to return home at the end of a long day at school. If he were to go in now, and see the couch in the living room and the photographs on the walls, it would make him feel like a stranger intruding upon somebody else’s life. 

The house looks empty, a shell of memories with no signs of life, and he imagines it would look worse if the neighbours didn’t help look after things when his parents were away. It doesn’t feel like a homecoming, and for a moment he’s guilty for thinking that way. 

He doesn’t go in. 

He turns around, letting his feet carry him away. 

He passes through the small shopping district a few blocks away, smiling at the sight of housewives bustling about the open stalls, haggling prices with vendors and gossiping amongst each other. He tries a bit of homemade sakura mochi from an oba-chan who recognizes him. She’s known him since he was a child, when his mother would take him shopping with her. The skin on the back of her hand is smooth and papery between his own, and the mochi tastes sweet and just a little salty on his tongue.

Tokyo’s summer wraps around him like a blanket as he makes his way to the river, to the path where cherry blossoms bloom in the spring time, laden branches showering passersby with petals of pink and white. In August there is only the sound of cicadas, the scent of grass, and the rushing train in the distance. He used to take that train, from Tokyo to Kanagawa and back. 

Near the middle school, Kise pauses. It’s the first bell of the afternoon block. Summer school is in session. Maybe it’s the events of the past few days. Maybe the heat’s getting to him, or maybe it’s simply being back here — but he’s hit by an wave of nostalgia, overwhelming and unstoppable.

He had to attend summer school before, with Aomine and Murasakibara. Of course back then he was a basketball idiot with more interest in practice than learning, forced to endure extra lessons to memorize the material and get the grades. Those were always the hottest days, and they’d sneak down to the pool for a quick, unsanctioned dip during lunch before they had training camp after class. It was in summer school that he’d noticed, perhaps for the first time, Aomine’s high cheekbones, sharp jaw, and clear eyes. The way his teenaged friend looked with his collar tugged open, with dots of moisture sliding from his temple to the hollow of his throat. Perhaps it was that summer long ago when he had realized there was more to his admiration for Aomine beyond basketball.

He pauses again. The heat must be getting to him, because he’s thinking about things that he hasn’t allowed himself to think about for a long time. When was it, that he had realized his eyes were always following Aomine? He didn’t want to be obvious, but he wanted to be around him all the time, to see more of his laughter and to laugh with him. 

He laughs at himself. In the end, Aomine had never looked at him the same way, his gaze always aimed elsewhere while Kise was left staring at his back. 

He quickens his pace to the park near the river, and sits down heavily at a bench surrounded by a copse of trees. He takes off his hat and rubs a hand through his hair, then puts the hat back on. He wishes he had something to drink. 

Kise sits there, underneath the shade, with a surge of mild irritation. Why’d he have to think about Aomine? It was from such a long time ago, but the gears in his mind are turning now that he’s begun to think about it. Actually — that one time they kissed… 

It was one summer evening when they were assigned clean up duty for fooling around during practice. They were bickering, bumping elbows and shoulders as Kise put away the equipment and Aomine cleaned the floor halfheartedly. He remembers that he didn’t mind staying late to clean because it was fun to be with Aomine. 

At some point during their shoving, they fell in a heap onto the floor. Kise turned his head, his breath caught in his chest when he saw his reflection in Aomine’s eyes. They kissed in a messy clash of teeth and saliva, fists clenched around sweaty shirts. 

It hadn’t been his first kiss, but it was memorable. He had known, as young as he had been, that he’d felt something special for the boy who’d introduced him to the game that made his heart thrum and whose smile was brighter than the sun. He remembers falling asleep that night smothering a laugh into his pillow, heart bubbling with something new. 

But nothing more became it, and they fell into their routine bickering and practical jokes. Aomine never brought up the kiss, and he didn’t either. They were always bad at talking. It was just as well that his friend turned into a giant asshole, because it made it easier for him to joke back, to pretend that he didn’t care and that this was how it’s supposed to be. 

He sighs and smoothes his hands down the sleeves of his linen shirt. He’s never figured out who had started the kiss, but it doesn’t matter anymore. It was a long time ago, and they’re not children anymore. 

Kise feels a headache coming on. This is why he’s avoided coming back to Tokyo for so long. It’s his hometown, but there are moments from the past that he wants to forget, even if they’re bitter and sweet. 

He shifts in his seat and checks his phone. It’s getting late in the afternoon although the sky remains undimmed and the heat is a tight cocoon around him. He’s been outside for too long. There aren’t many pedestrians now, but he should leave before it gets busier as the temperature drops and night falls. 

He’s walked a long way from where he’s started, and he needs to find a sign or an address before he can call for a ride. He stands to look around the park, his finger hovering above the button for the car service. He passes a pagoda, a small ornamental garden, and a cluster of trees, looking around with no avail. As he rounds the corner, he hears a rhythmic beat on the concrete. The sound echoes in his ears, and his breath stutters. 

He’s emerged into a basketball court, and in a cruel twist of fate, there was the blue eyed boy he’d grown up alongside. The one who gave him memories he both wants to forget and never let go.

The ball bounces out the net and rolls in his direction. He’s rooted to his spot, and watches helplessly as Aomine turns.

“Kise?” 

Kise sees the moment of recognition in those eyes, and he feels, at the same time, cursed and fortunate to have run into him. 

“Kise,” Aomine repeats, taking long strides towards him.

“Hey,” Kise replies, his blood thrumming and skin tingling. He’s reeling; the childish crush he had on Aomine may be a bygone memory, but the unidentified emotions swirling in his chest are all too real. 

“It’s been a while,” says Aomine, offering a crooked grin. He looks relaxed, sandalled feet clacking softly and muscles shifting beneath his tank top. He looks good, solid, despite the August heat, and Kise watches him approach with cotton in his mouth. 

He had heard that Aomine liked to stay in Japan during the offseason. He had even expected to encounter him at some event or another, since they have mutual friends, but he wasn’t prepared for his. He nods in return. “It’s good to see you.” He sounds awkward to his own ears. 

“Yeah.” Up close, Aomine stands half a head taller than Kise, and wider, shoulders corder with muscle. They stand together underneath the ginkgo tree. “You too. It’s been, what, a year or two?” 

“Something like that,” Kise says faintly. He’s nervous, but Aomine seems fine, so he tells himself to be fine as well. “Akashi-kun’s dinner.” 

“Ahh,” smirks the blue eyed man. “How’d you get out of going last year?” 

“There was a schedule conflict,” Kise says, and offers a tentative smile. “I’m sorry to have missed it.” He feels a bead of sweat drip down his jaw. Aomine’s gaze is bright, and he suddenly feels apprehensive. What does Aomine think of him now? Does he think of him at all? He fights the urge to look away. 

“Woulda been less boring with you there,” says Aomine, and Kise has to bite the inside of his cheek. 

“Did Akashi-kun get drunk?” 

“Nah,” Aomine grins, “but we tried.” 

“Next time,” Kise says, drinking in the sight of him. They look at each other, and Kise can’t find any more words to say. It’s familiar and strange, standing beside Aomine. Maybe it’s all a dream, and he’ll wake up in an hour on the set of another movie, wistful and aching. 

Aomine breaks the silence. “My place is around here, want to grab a drink?”

Kise freezes for a quick second, the sound of cicadas loud in his ears. He should refuse. But a bigger part of him doesn’t want to let go of this dream. He nods, smiling, and he wants to ask — Do you remember me like I remember you? 

*

“Here we are,” Aomine says, holding the door open for Kise. A few pairs of basketball shoes are lined up at one end of the foyer. He probably has a whole closetful stowed away somewhere, Kise thinks. 

“It’s messy,” says Aomine behind him, toeing off his sandals and making his way into the living room. The apartment is spacious, with buttery walls and an enormous chocolate coloured couch. There are a few magazines spread over various surfaces, basketballs and empty cups. 

It feels real, full of nicknacks and pieces from Aomine’s life. It’s not messy in any sense of the word, only lived-in, and Kise finds that it suits the man. He hadn’t know what to expect before he got here, but he likes this much more than a bland and structured hotel room.

“It’s lovely,” Kise says, turning to Aomine. “Is it yours?”

Aomine’s place is a ten minute walk from the riverside, on the eighth floor of a building built of brick and chrome. There are three other doors on this floor other than Aomine’s, and they’d used a key to operate the elevator. 

“Yeah, bought it a few years ago.” Aomine’s voice is muffled as he tears off his shirt. Better than David Beckham in that underwear commercial, Kise’s mind supplies traitorously. 

He quickly looks down, bending to put his shoes away near the door. He feels embarrassed, although he knows that athletes are used to changing in front of teammates, reporters and staff and that it’s simply a habit for Aomine. He should know: as an actor, he’s constantly surrounded by people, and his mannerisms carry outside of work. 

“Great location,” he says, and his voice is steady enough when he looks back to Aomine. He’s had plenty of practice with making small talk at work functions. “It’s a good investment.” 

Aomine nods, beckoning for him to come in. “Security downstairs, no hassle with the upkeep. And my parents live in the next district.” Kise is a little surprised by the sound reasoning, by how well he’d thought this through, but then again it’s been a long time. 

His host disappears through a doorway with a “I’m gonna shower” thrown over his shoulder. 

Kise sits awkwardly on the couch. The situation is very unexpected. He takes off his hat and spends a few minutes on his phone before wandering into the kitchen in search of a much needed drink. 

The doors of the fridge are covered with notes and photographs. Some of them stick out, like the list of what he assumes to be takeout restaurants and phone numbers, a training schedule, and a nutrition plan. There are a few photos of Aomine crouched around a cup with his team and his coaches. Kagami is in one photo. In another photo, Aomine has his arms around Momoi in front of the Statue of Liberty, arms linked in the snow.

He moves from that photo to the next slowly, and his eyes fall upon a group of teenagers with rainbow coloured hair. He’s in that picture too, although he only regularly talks to a couple of the people in the photo now. Those faces are so young, and it makes something in his chest ache. 

They’re practically strangers, and at best they’re casual acquaintances. They had once been friends, but unlike Aomine and Momoi or Kagami or Kuroko, the two of them never sought each other out. Their friendship didn’t last, and Kise tells himself to remember this. They would be complete strangers without the memories to bind them and to link them together, and even those memories are frayed around the edges. 

He’s still standing in front of the fridge when Aomine reappears with a towel around his shoulders. “Want something to drink?” he asks, cutting through the silence. “Corona?” 

Kise recovers, and offers a grin. If nothing else, he is an actor. He’ll be okay. “No Sapporo?” 

“Habit from the States, I guess,” Aomine says, rubbing at his hair. He slices a lime into wedges, fingers long and sure around the handle of the knife. 

“I saw a commercial for your shoes on t.v. today,” Kise says, accepting a bottle of beer, “congratulations.” 

“They’re corny, aren’t they,” he shakes his head, joining Kise across the table. “But thanks. They’re doing alright.” He takes a drink, and Kise watches his throat as he swallows before flicking his eyes away. “What’ve you been up to?” 

“Working,” Kise says, tracing through the condensation on the bottle. It’s the plain truth. He feels Aomine’s eyes trained on his face, but doesn’t meet his gaze. He watches the bubbles in his beer fizz and burst out of existence. 

“Haven’t been in Japan in a while?” Aomine smirks, leaning back in his chair. “Your Japanese is stiff.” 

“I just got back yesterday. It’s lucky we ran into each other.” 

“Do you do that often?” asks Aomine. “Walk around casually. You’re famous. I was surprised to see no one following you.” 

“Not often,” Kise replies, “but it’s not like I’m Ayumi Hamasaki or anything. I think you’re probably more well known than I am,” he tilts his head. “And you were playing basketball. There aren’t many Japanese players in the NBA with a deal with Nike.” 

Aomine swirls his beer. “Maybe,” he drawls, “important in some circles.” 

“Yes,” Kise smiles. “The same applies to me.” 

They sit and drink as the day begins to fade, talking lightly about mundane things such as the heat wave last year that killed four people. It feels oddly formal, and Kise feels displaced by being here — especially because there’s no reason for him to be here. 

The doorbell rings and Kise is jerked out of his thoughts. 

“I should get going,” he says, standing up. He needs to move on from the past, and it’s hard when he’s in front of this man. “Thanks for the drink.” 

“You don’t have to go.” Aomine frowns, getting up to follow. 

“I’ve already taken up your time,” Kise says, putting on his hat and stepping to the entrance. 

He opens the door and he’s almost barrelled over by a tall shadow. 

“Ahomine! We have dinner!” The front door bangs open completely, and suddenly he’s faced with Kagami and Kuroko, holding fragrant plastic bags and soda cups. 

“Kise!” Kagami sounds surprised, but he’s not the only one. 

“You should stay for dinner,” Aomine says.

“Kise-kun,” Kuroko greets from Kagami’s elbow. “Yes, you should.” 

Minutes later he finds himself at the table once again. Across from him, Aomine and Kagami are bickering over the burgers while Kuroko slurps at a vanilla shake in the seat beside him. They’re so familiar and laid back with each other. It’s a reminder of what he doesn’t have.

“Kuroko-kun,” he ventures. “How are your students?” 

“Cute,” Kuroko replies. “But vicious.” 

“Ah, children. I’m sure you’re doing a good job.” 

“Kise-kun should come and see for himself,” says Kuroko. “Surely you will be here long enough to visit, this time.” 

“That would be nice.” Kise takes a bite of his burger. He hadn’t realized that he was hungry, but as it were he hadn’t eaten since breakfast at Kasamatsu’s house, and so much has happened since then. 

“I liked that movie you were in,” Kagami says. “We,” he gestures at Aomine, “saw it in the States before coming back.” 

“Oh, thanks.” Kise is surprised, and doesn’t hide his reaction. “I didn’t think you’d have time to watch.” 

“We don’t practice all the time,” Kagami snorts, (“Although you are a basketball idiot,” Kuroko interjects.) “and there’s more time in the off season, no games or press or whatever.” Kagami continues unmoved, and Kise feels a stab of something painful at the easy rapport between them. They ran in similar circles back in school, so how come he’s not part of this? “We’re basically on vacation, and we’ll still train while we’re here.” 

“That’s great,” Kise shoots a smile at him. “I hear you guys have been doing well in New York.” 

Kagami lights up. “Do you follow the game?” 

“Unfortunately not,” Kise shakes his head, feeling Kagami deflate and Aomine’s eyes on him. “But Tatsuya fills me in.” 

“Kise-kun, are you here on vacation as well?” 

“Yes,” he replies. 

“We should hang!” Kagami says, excited. 

“I’d like that,” he murmurs, and smiles a little. 

“We could play ball together!” Kagami shouts. 

“Ah, maybe I’ll sit out of those,” Kise says with a little laugh, pretending not to see the disappointment on his face. 

“Where are you staying?” Kuroko asks. 

“At Akashi-kun’s hotel in Roppongi,” he replies, and Kagami makes a pinched expression, no doubt thinking about masses of people roaming through bars and questionable establishments.

“Whatever works for you, man,” Kagami says. “How’d you get out here?” 

“I was visiting my parent’s house.” 

“That’s near here?” 

“Yes. Kise-kun’s old house is here.” Kuroko finishes his shake. “How is your family?” 

“No one’s in Japan right now,” he says, because he’s used to giving roundabout answers to questions about his private life. 

Kagami belches. “If the house is empty why are you staying in Roppongi then?” 

Kise thinks about his answer. “I guess I haven’t figured out what I’m doing yet.” 

“We can do some stuff,” says Aomine, and Kise’s eyes fly to his, taken aback. 

“Yeah!” Kagami shouts. “And the summer festival!” 

“I don’t know,” Kise says, still looking at Aomine. “There will be a lot of people.” 

“No one bothers us,” says Aomine, looking back. “Have you seen Bakagami’s face?” 

“People are often more focused on themselves,” Kuroko adds, flicking the remnants of his burger at Kagami’s outraged face. “There hasn’t been an issue.” 

He glances around the table. “Okay,” he says. Aomine grins crookedly at him, and Kise hesitantly returns a small smile, feeling his heart beat quicken. 

It’s late in the evening when Kise stands to leave, and this time Aomine stands with him by the door and tells him he’s glad to have run into him.

His composure wavers. “Me too,” he says, and it feels like a confession. 

*

“I heard you ran into Aomine,” Himuro says in English. 

“Hm,” Kise mumbles, rubbing his eyes. The clock says it’s 7:02AM. “Why are you up so early?” 

“For the bakery,” Himuro replies. “So how was it?”

“Fine,” Kise mutters. He’d prefer to never have this conversation, but Himuro had no doubt heard it from Kagami. “He wants to hang out.” 

“You’re going to see fireworks together.”

“Yeah,” sighs Kise. 

“Are you up for it?” 

“I already said yes,” Kise says, rolling over in bed. He had trouble falling asleep last night. 

“It doesn’t mean you’re okay with it,” and if Himuro sounds skeptical, it’s because he knows Kise too well. 

Kise palms his forehead. “Kagami and Kuroko will be there, so.”

“My point exactly. It’s kinda a couple-y thing to do.” He could practically see Himuro raising his eyebrows, and sighs inwardly. Yes, the festivals are overrun by couples. 

“Or a friend thing to do,” Kise says, just for the sake of it. 

“Are you friends?” Himuro asks, and he means ‘don’t give me bullshit’. 

He’s silent. They don’t seek each other out, not the way Aomine has kept in contact with Kuroko after all these years. Certainly not in the way that he and Himuro have maintained their friendship. He only sees Aomine when their lives intersect at the request of other people. Aomine’s never reached out, and he’s too proud and afraid of the past to try.

“No,” Kise admits.

“Until yesterday, apparently. So how do you feel about it?” Himuro asks again. 

“I’m fine,” Kise begins, and goes quiet. How do you act around someone you looked up to, someone you’ve been unable to forget, when they show up out of the blue after years of absence? 

He shuts his eyes. “I — I want to be around him.” The words rush out of him, filling the room.

“Okay,” says Himuro. “It’s okay to want to be friends.” 

Kise lies in bed, all traces of sleep gone. He doesn’t know if he wants to be friends, either. He just can’t help his desire to soak in Aomine’s attention until it’s no longer there. It makes him feel a little bit pathetic. 

“Are you asleep?” 

“No,” he replies, listening to the sound of clinking metal on the other side of the line.

“Come over,” Himuro says, and hangs up with a hiss of static. 

Kise stares at the ceiling. What has he gotten himself into?

*

(from Ellen Season 16 Episode 7) 

ELLEN: Hey, have y’all seen the movie The Weeping Fern? Well, if you haven’t, you should, because it’s really good. And here to promote the sequel is star of The Bleeding Anemone. Please welcome Kise! (Stands.) 

(Audience cheers.) 

ELLEN: Hi! (Hugs. Kisses on cheek.) 

KISE: Hi Ellen! Hi everybody! (Waves.) 

ELLEN: Nice dance moves! I’m so glad to have you on the show! (Sits.)

KISE: Thank you, I’m so happy to be here! (Sits.) 

ELLEN: How are you? 

KISE: Great! The press tour for this film ends this week so I’ll get to sleep for days after! 

ELLEN: Like a sleep-cation! 

KISE: That’s right! (Laughs.) 

ELLEN: Listen, you are so wonderful in this new movie.

KISE: Thank you!

ELLEN: It’s the second movie in a trilogy, and tell everyone about this film. 

KISE: I like to think of it as a bit of a revenge flick, actually! (Laughs.) So the trilogy revolves around the events of a crime syndicate. This second moves focuses on events put in motion by my character, Jonah. 

ELLEN: Good old Jonah!

KISE: That’s right! This time ‘round, Jonah has left the syndicate and tries to build a life for himself. 

ELLEN: So how is it a revenge flick? 

KISE: You could say he’s the antagonist and protagonist at the same time. 

ELLEN: Wow, that sounds complicated and interesting! 

KISE: I try! (Laughs.) Although I will say that I watched Mean Girls to channel a certain attitude. 

ELLEN: The ‘I’m better, you’re scum’ attitude? 

KISE: How did you know! 

ELLEN: Well, I’ve seen the movie, and you are really terrific in it! 

KISE: Thank you. 

ELLEN: I think this movie is going to do well. 

KISE: I hope so! There’s a lot of action but I think it’s moving, too. (Laughs.) 

ELLEN: It is moving. I thought that Jonah was hurt because it hurts when a person puts their all into something but it’s not returned. 

KISE: That’s a great description, Ellen!

ELLEN: Thanks, I try too! (Laughs.) So, people might not know this, but you’ve actually been doing this for a while. 

KISE: Yes, I started out modelling, and then I tried a few stage performances and from there I started acting in movies! 

ELLEN: Wow, and why haven’t you been here before? (Looks at production crew.) 

KISE: (Laughs.) Well, I’ve never had such a big role in a franchise before. 

ELLEN: Unbelievable. You’re so good. 

KISE: Thank you! 

ELLEN: And are you going to be back for the last movie? 

KISE: Yes, spoiler alert, I will be back. (Laughs.) 

(Audience cheers.)

ELLEN: And in the meantime, what are you going to do on vacation?

KISE: Not much, lounge around and eat pasta.

ELLEN: Pasta! It’s not even ‘lounge around and eat pizza’, it’s pasta. (Laughs.) You’re a special one. 

KISE: (Laughs.) I’ll alternate, pizza one day and pasta another. Or both together. 

ELLEN: Well, are you gonna ‘lounge around and eat pasta’ with anyone? 

KISE: Yeah! I’ll be seeing friends and family, hopefully. 

ELLEN: Anyone special? 

KISE: I’m single, if that’s what you’re asking? (Laughs.) 

ELLEN: Well, I’m taken. 

KISE: (Laughs.) You’re wonderful, so I’m not surprised! 

ELLEN: (Laughs.) Alright, we’re gonna take a break and then we’ll play a game. We’ll be back with Kise! 

*

The summer festival is a violent mixture of colour and noise in the hours past sunset, the skies covered with the light of burning lanterns and paper ornaments. Kagami and Kuroko are leading the way from the neighbourhood shrine to the river. Aomine walks beside him, a tall line of heat making nervous tingles run all the way down to his fingertips. 

“Let’s go there,” Kuroko points to a stall with goldfish and paper scoops. “Kagami-kun will pay for dinner if he loses.” 

“Oi!” Kagami grumbles, and Kise has to wonder how his voice is so loud when he’s not even yelling. Kuroko heads to the stall while Kagami hurries to finish his chocolate covered bananas. 

They’re greeted enthusiastically but it is quickly established that Aomine and Kagami should not be expected to behave like civilized individuals in the same vicinity. They squat near the goldfish pool and scoop up all the goldfish in little metal hoops at lightning speed, trash talking and splashing each other with water, leaving damp patches on their clothes. 

“Kagami-kun, Aomine-kun, you’re making the stall owner cry,” Kuroko says, with an air of exasperation that makes Kise smile. Kuroko must sound like this at the daycare, too. The two basketball players each end up with an even number of goldfish, and the owner is visibly relieved when all the goldfish are returned. 

“They all die in a couple of days anyway,” Kagami says as they leave the stall, distracted by the lure of shōyu dipped rice crackers and grilled squid. 

“Kagami-kun,” Kuroko deadpans, “shut up.” 

“It’s true!” Kagami insists. “And I would’ve won if Ahomine didn’t sabotage me.”

“Shut up, Bakagami,” drawls Aomine. “We all know I don’t need to do that.” 

Kise laughs, the scene striking him with a familiar sense of longing. It’s as if he’s the audience to a display put on by his buried subconscious, acting out a reality that’s passing him by. Being together with them reminds Kise of walking home after a game of street basketball, side by side beneath the flickering street lamps, voices bright and adrenaline high. He lets himself imagine, and thinks maybe this is how it always would’ve been if he hadn’t left, if only one of them had reached out a hand. 

They’re separated from Kuroko and Kagami as they make their way to the riverside. Aomine’s a little ahead, shirt already dry in the warmth of the summer night. Around them are couples, boys fooling around with sparklers and girls dressed in yukatas and sandals, flowers in their hair. Leaning against the railing are a few businessmen, loosening their ties and having a cigarette, breathing smoke into the cavities of their lungs. It’s loud and beautiful. 

Light glimmers over black river water like shining snake scales. Kise watches Aomine’s profile from the corner of his eye, the strong cut of his jaw and the slope of his nose. They’re close enough to touch, but he doesn’t dare move. 

He remembers when Aomine returned with a passion for basketball. It was fun playing together then, and some days, he would watch his friends and teammates on the court with something like wonder in his eyes. 

He couldn’t look away then. He still can’t look away.

* 

Kise thinks it’s a sign of good fortune that he’s successful enough to live comfortably and give his friends and family lavish gifts every holiday, but he’s not the most marketable or commercial choice of actor for studios. In the sparse amount of downtime between work, he returns home to southern California where the sun always shines, where the sky is always blue, and lives a fairly quiet and private life. 

The first few days back home he spends shut up in his room, trying to lose the remnants of the character he’s had to become. When he feels settled enough to emerge, he indulges himself by soaking in a hot, fragrant bath with a face mask and a steaming cup of tea. 

In a typical day when Kise isn’t working, he buys avocados, oranges, and kale at the market and visits the bookstore around the corner on the way back home. He takes long walks, visits the beach to feel the crashing waves and the salty spray of seawater. He goes home, says hello to the grandma across the street, takes long baths and reads: short stories, fiction, non-fiction, crime, history, and anything in between. If a friend is in town, he goes out for lunch, but otherwise he cooks for himself, and although it’s nothing spectacular, it’s enough to fill his stomach. Sometimes he’ll lay in bed for the better part of the day, watching Netflix, doing this or that but nothing important.

He talks with his sisters and Himuro over the phone a few times a week, but when he opens his mouth after days of his own company it takes him a while to recognize the sound of his voice. 

Maggie invites herself over a couple nights a week when she can be parted from work and her own obligations. They no longer go clubbing and get shit faced like in the early years of his departure from Japan, so they go out into town, to a jazz bar or a concert or a show, and they attend a few theatre performance where he makes conversation with passing familiar faces. She doesn’t say anything, but he knows that she thinks he’s lonely. 

Funnily enough, he runs into someone he never expected to see again during the obligatory intermission mingling on one of these nights out. 

“Kise, this is Nash Gold Junior, whose corporation is sponsoring the show this evening.” 

“We’ve met,” Nash says, offering a hand and a smirk. 

“Mr Gold,” Kise says pleasantly, shaking his hand and feeling too weary to be hostile. It’s a small world. He’s surprised that Nash remembers him, but it’s likely a trait of the gifted. 

“Call me Nash, sweetheart,” and Kise smiles. Nash is one of those men who are self possessed and confident, who’d use a five hundred dollar shirt as a rag and throw it away after a single use. As it were, he’s dressed to the nines in a tailored suit, short hair styled with a bit of texture and tattoos peeking out from under his collar. Something about him puts Kise on edge. 

Nash looks him over from top to bottom with hooded eyes. He hasn’t let go of Kise’s hand, and Kise shivers when his gaze passes over the exposed skin of his neck. “Still play basketball, sweetheart,” he asks, stepping closer. 

“No. And you?” He’s formulating a plan to politely extract himself from the situation when Nash leans down to speak into his ear.

“Neither do I. Business before pleasure and all that.” 

He’s close enough to smell his cologne, and Kise wills himself to relax. Nash, he thinks, despite having an ego larger than his wallet, isn’t looking for anything other than sex. And goodness knows it’s been a long time. He tilts his head slightly, just enough to bring his face closer to Nash’s and bare the pale slope of his neck. “I would’ve thought differently, Mr Gold,” Kise says, lowering his lashes and looking up to see his eyes darken. 

“And you’d be right,” Nash replies, letting go of Kise’s hand to pull him in at the waist. 

Kise nods to where Maggie’s standing a few paces away; she winks before she’s folded back into the crowd. The theatre is packed despite it being a Wednesday evening, and he slips away with Nash undisturbed. 

They fuck, and he leaves in a chauffeured Bentley while Nash is in the shower. That night, he sleeps like the dead, dreamless and uninterrupted. When he wakes, he finds a text from an unknown number. He saves the number under “Gold”. 

“He’s your booty call,” Maggie says when he tells her in stilted words. “There are worse people to have as a booty call.”

And so occasionally, they meet up between work and steady lovers when it’s too much trouble to go out and pull for a night. They both get off, and it’s uncomplicated because neither of them are looking for anything more. For Nash, he’s the piece on the side until he finds an heiress to pair up with for children and legacy, and for him, it’s a fool’s gamble to start something with anyone who might profit from him.

His heart’s not in it, but Maggie isn’t wrong to think that he’s lonely. 

Having the warmth of someone next to him is… nice, and contrary to Kise’s initial impression of Nash, the older man has a form of respect for others that makes his company tolerable outside of their physical compatibility. Sometimes he even stays for breakfast. 

He continues to live his life quietly, and this is how his vacation would’ve been like, except this time he stopped only briefly at home before leaving for Tokyo. 

*

“Hey.” 

Kise jumps, hearing a voice behind him, and hardly believes his ears. 

“Aomine-kun,” he breathes, turning around with his heart beating out of his chest.

“Morning,” the taller man returns, grinning and pointing at the bowl of flour in his hands. “Since when do you bake?” 

He stares at the basketball player for a moment, wondering if he’s fallen asleep in the batter before assuring himself of his sanity and discarding the thought. Murasakibara wouldn’t have allowed it in his kitchen (ironically enough, the tall baker thinks that he is the only one worthy of slacking off at any time; it’s why Himuro runs the business and all the staff listen to him instead), and he’s been awake and caffeinated since his arrival at the bakery early in the morning. 

“I don’t really,” he says, finding himself alone in the kitchen with Aomine. He pats his floury hands on his apron. “I’m just throwing some stuff together.” 

“Hm,” Aomine grins a little wider, and Kise’s heart beats a little faster. “But Himuro said you’d have a treat for me.” 

“He did?” He’s going to strangle the traitor later, he thinks, rubbing an arm against his brow. “Well… I made a batch of muffins earlier. They’re not great. I can get something from the store racks, if you want,” gesturing towards the cooling rows of dainty cakes and golden puff pastry. 

“I’ll take one you made.” Aomine says, and looks so pleased that Kise complies with only a little hesitancy. He continues to sift flour as Aomine takes a bite, stubbornly refusing to look at his reaction. 

“This is great, Kise.” 

He chances a look, seeing the muffin already half gone. “Thanks,” he says, feeling more relieved than he should be and finally willing his pulse to slow.

“When’d you get up?” Aomine asks. “Looks like you got a lot done.” 

“A few hours ago,” says Kise, because it’s still morning. He doesn’t mention how he has trouble sleeping sometimes. Himuro is a good friend, knowing that he needs a distraction but wording the invitation in a way that doesn’t make him seem weak. He’s been working at the bakery almost every day of the past week, preparing ingredients and batters that are hard to mess up. It keeps him busy, and he likes that he can be helpful.

They’re silent as Kise finishes up the batter in his hands. He wraps it to put in the fridge, and when he looks up again Aomine has finished the muffin. It makes him unreasonably happy. 

“Do you bake a lot?” Aomine nods towards the cluttered counter. 

“Just recently.” He wipes his hands on his apron, unsure of what to do. “Do you — there’s a room upstairs. Do you want to have some tea?” 

Aomine nods. “Sure.”

He follows Kise to a small flight of stairs at the back corner of the kitchen. They climb, and when they reach the top Kise takes off the apron overtop his oversized tee and worn jeans. 

“This is part of the office,” Kise gestures to the round table and the potted plants. Near the window there is a lumpy couch and along the far wall there’s a small kitchenette complete with a stove, a sink, a fridge and a set of cupboards. “Tatsuya’s office is down the hall.” 

He puts the kettle on and leans against the counter. “Sorry,” he huffs out with a slight laugh. “I wish I had more for you than some muffins. I didn’t know you’d be coming.” 

“Didn’t hear from you after the fireworks. Just wanted to see how you were.” Aomine leans back into his chair, looking regal and out of place in that little room with Kise and his threadbare jeans. He asks earnestly, as if he actually cared to hear the answer, and Kise falters. 

He’s been avoiding Aomine along with Kuroko and Kagami after the summer festival a few nights ago. He had been getting attached too quickly, and he’s fearful of how much it will hurt when the summer inevitably passes. It seemed like a bad idea to surround himself by their company, only to regret it and lament it like a lost limb.

He hadn’t really considered it as an avoidance, either, because he had expected for them to go back to orbiting outside of each other’s circles if he just stayed silent. He hadn’t expected for Aomine to come looking. 

“I’m fine,” he decides to say. The kettle whistles behind him, and he turns to prepare a pot of tea. “Still settling down.” 

“You still up to do something?” Aomine asks, surprising him yet again. 

He sets down the kettle a little harder than he intended to, but catches himself and gives a little laugh. He pours two cups of hot tea, hiding his expression in the rising steam. 

“Without the other idiots this time,” the dark haired man tries.

“I don’t know… I’m sure you’re busy with other things.” He’s very aware that they all have their own lives and responsibilities and very little time to be with each other or to entertain… friends. 

“I’m not busy,” Aomine says. “I’m on vacation.” 

It’s not a good idea, he thinks, setting down a cup in front of the basketball player. It’s not a good idea to get momentarily close to this man, to get attached and wanting. 

He doesn’t join Aomine at the table, standing instead at the kitchen counter. He presses his hands around his own drink, feeling the warmth seep through his bones. He blows on his tea and the vapours part for his breath before gathering together, unchanged. It burns on the way down his throat, earthy and bitter on his tongue.

Kise exhales, feeling his resolve crumble. “Alright.” He’ll regret it either way, saying yes or saying no. He always had been weak against this man.

“Why didn’t you tell us you’d be back?” 

Why didn’t he? He turns his head to the side, brushing aside his fringe. He contemplates, and offers a half truth. “It was last minute. I don’t want to be a bother.” 

“You’re not,” he hears the other man say. “You can call us. You should.” 

There’s a tea stalk floating in his cup, he notes absently. It hasn’t been more than a week since his return to Japan, but already so much of what he’s used to has begun to change. 

“Okay,” Kise says. He might not believe it, but he’ll reluctantly agree with Aomine’s words for now. He’ll allow himself to have this man’s whims and friendship for the summer, and when this door closes for the second time, maybe he can be rid of this doomed, unending infatuation. 

“Okay,” Aomine repeats, beginning to grin. “Hey, is it time for lunch yet?” 

He sets down his tea and despite himself, smiles. 

*


End file.
